


More Strong Than Time

by McFif



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, M/M, Montparnasse is not - I repeate NOT - punk, sorry about that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-20 14:53:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8253124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McFif/pseuds/McFif
Summary: Montparnasse has a weird dream on the metro, runs into his soulmate, steals 50€ from their purse and asks them out on a date. Miraculously, they say yes.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I blame CLAMP on my both my love for an understanding of reincarnation stories, and I think they have explained their appeal better than I could:
> 
> "But his reincarnations are so different from himself."  
> "Yes, they are. That's why my heart beats faster everytime I see him again. Because it's my first time meeting this person. I don't want to be with them because they are a reincarnation of Shuichiro-san. I sipmly believe they will become someone very special to me... because they have the same heart and the same soul as my beloved Shichiro-san."  
> \- Kohaku in _Kobato_ , Capter 32

_It was the poet. One of the student rebels who often gathered in the Café Musain. Montparnasse knew him because he had stolen his wallet once, and he knew he was a poet because it had been full of half finished poems instead of money.  
  
He cowered down beside the young man's dead body, automatically searching his body for anything worth a Sous. Nothing. No, wait – he pulled a wrinkled and folded piece of paper out of a pocket inside the rebel's – to be honest, rather ugly – waistcoat. Montparnasse didn't expect it to be of any value, but he was naturally curious. He had never read a single book in his life and knew nothing about poetry, but the handwritten lines on the paper struck him as oddly moving.  
  
Three lines had been jotted down, although the first one had been crossed out again so Montparnasse didn't bother to decipher it. But the last two lines were clearly readable, written in a lively handwriting. Their meaning was far above his head, but they sounded dark and mysterious, yet romantic.  
  
He looked down at the dead poet again, brushing a strand of hair aside to reveal a face covered in dirt and freckles. Montparnasse vaguely remembered how he had looked alive; not exactly beautiful, but as if his head was filled with beautiful thoughts. He looked like Montparnasse would have expected a poet to look.  
  
Montparnasse had killed people, more than a few; the sight of a corpse should not have phased him. But something about the dead poet put him in a strangely melancholic mood. He almost wished he had talked to the young man while he had been alive, wondered what their relationship could have been like. But there was no sense in wasting thoughts on what could have been. He was dead, just like all of the other students, Éponine, and the kid...  
  
Montparnasse' cold fingers closed around the piece of paper._  
  
.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
He woke up abruptly as his head hit the windowpane of the metro tram he had no ticket for and could barely remember getting onto. He didn't know where it was going or how long he'd been sleeping, all he knew was hat it must be around noon and he was starving.  
  
He decided it was better not to press his luck anyway and got off on the next station, trying to take his bearings. He wasn't far away from the Gare du Nord, which was always a good place to get lunch. The tourists arriving with the international trains were too busy figuring out which way to go to notice a quick hand pulling their wallet out of their pockets. They were even less suspicious of a local with a pretty face who offered them help. And a pretty face was the one thing always available to him. He actually made an effort to keep it, which wasn't that easy, considering his lifestyle.  
  
While he was making his way through the crowded streets he remembered the strange dream he had had on the train. Or rather, he remembered having a stranger dream; he couldn't remember what exactly it had been about. It must have been something really unpleasant, because he still felt a little cloudy. Hadn't there been a paper? He was sure there had been a paper, some sort of note. A letter, perhaps?  
  
He stopped to check his appearance in the glass of a dark shop window, adjusted a few strands of his hair and deemed his reflection good enough to get him something to eat.  
  
The station was still crowded, although the tourism had naturally gone back after the holiday season was over. Things would get easier once the first Christmas tourist arrived, until then he'd just have to get by. At least he was lucky enough to have a warm place to sleep, which had been his biggest worry when he had left home.  
  
Montparnasse pulled his jacket tighter around his body and hurried into the big hall – it was freezing cold! – forcing himself to slow down so he'd look like a simple pedestrian, who was waiting for a a train or wanted to legally purchase goods from the shops. Which he was technically going to do, once he had, a little less legally, acquired some money.  
  
He casually let his gaze wander over the crowd, looking accessible pockets and visible wallets in particular. There were certain features to look for in an easy prey, it was one of the first things your learnt in the business: loose clothing, outside pockets without zippers or buttons, people who were looking at their phone, loose handbags, etc. It didn't take him very long to find a suitable victim. A small girl with dirty blonde hair in a messy braid stood, with a run down suitcase between her feet, in the middle of the hall and turned her head left and right, apparently looking for someone to pick her up. He could make out the shape of a purse or a wallet in her unbuttoned coat pockets.  
  
Montparnasse went a big circle around the hall to approach her from the other side. He pretended to look at the other way and bumped into the girl.  
  
“Oh, God, Is so- oh... sorry.”  
  
He quickly tried to cover his surprise with a charming smile. So it wasn't a girl. It was a boy, who just happened to have long hair, a feminine figure, a purple coat that suspiciously looked like it came from the little girl's section of H &M, and skinny jeans. Hopefully the smile worked anyway...  
  
But the boy barely seemed to notice him. Which was a little insulting, but convenient. “It's fine, it's fine”, he mumbled, his eyes still fixed on the main entrance. At least he didn't notice Montparnasse' hand in the pocket of his coat. It was way too easy, really.  
  
Maybe that was the reason why a minute later, when finally a dark haired guy arrived, hugged the pretty boy and they disappeared together, Montparnasse decided to run after them.  
Or maybe it was because that boy looked so damn fine in his stupid girly coat and his stupid girly pants.  
  
Yeah, it was probably that.  
  
“Hey, hey you – skinny jeans!”, he shouted and pushed through the crowd.  
  
The boy actually stopped at that, wow, and turned around. His dark haired friend frowned at him and said something Montparnasse couldn't understand. Pretty boy replied something he couldn't understand either.  
  
When he finally reached them he bent over and took a few heavy breathes for a dramatic effect. Then, without looking up, he raised his hand and waved pretty boy's wallet beside his head. “You dropped that”, he panted.  
  
“Whoopsie, really?”, pretty boy asked in a surprisingly not very girly voice. He took the wallet and smiled brightly at Montparnasse. “That's really sweet of you! I'm so clumsy... see, Courf, he's not a hooligan. He's not even drunk!”  
  
Montparnasse never thought there were actually people who used the word “whoopsie” in real life. This world surely was full of miracles, and one of them stood right here in front of him, wearing skinny jeans and, as Montparnasse noticed only now, dried flowers in his hair. His face seemed familiar, and Montparnasse felt a chill down his spine when he realized where he had seen it before. Those pale blue eyes, the bright eyelashes and the freckles on his nose – there was no doubt, the boy had been is his weird dream from before. He still did not remember what had happened in the dream, but this boy had been there, wearing an outfit equally remarkable to the one he was currently wearing.  
  
While Montparnasse had come to this conclusion the world hadn't stopped turning, and the boy from his dream and his friend with the dark curls, ' _Courf_ ', whatever kind of shitty name that was, looked at him with raised eyebrows. Shit. Was he starring?  
  
“You know, I'm not so sure about that”, 'Courf' said and rolled his eyes.  
  
“Oh hush”, pretty boy told him, and turned to face Montparnasse again. “I'm sorry, he's a douche bag sometimes. I can't thank you enough.”  
  
“I dreamed of you”, Montparnasse blurted out.  
  
“Oh God, he's a total creep”, 'Crouf' groaned and tried to pull pretty boy along.  
  
“No, wait, I'm not a creep!”, Montparnasse lied, but pretty boy obviously believed him because he struggled against his friend's grip. He did, however, seem a little confused by the sudden confession. Montparnasse could hardly blame him.  
  
“Let's just forget I said that”, Montparnasse offered with a weak smile, and much to his relief the boy's expression softened.  
  
“Alright”, he agreed, smiling sweetly back at Montparnasse. “Is there any way I show my gratitude? For the wallet, I mean. Oh! I'm Jean, by the way.” He held our a fragile hand with nails painted purple to match his coat.  
  
“Montparnasse”, he said and held the boy's hand for a little longer than was socially acceptable.  
  
“Like the the cemetery?”  
  
“It's probably not his real name”, 'Courf' said, sounding a little exasperated. “Although I guess you can relate to that, _Jean_.”  
  
The boy whose name apparently was not Jean blushed and shot his friend a deadly glare.  
  
“That's fine”, Montparnasse said suavely. “I'm not going to ask for your real name if you're not going to ask for mine.” He added a small wink and wondered if maybe he was over-egging the pudding. But judging by the bashful smile on not-Jean's lips he was doing just fine. He wondered how far he could take it before 'Courf', curse him, would stop their flirting. Because they were flirting, right?  
  
“So, about making it up to me...” He raised his brows and not-Jean turned even redder. “Well, sure. I mean, it depends on, uh, what you had in mind?”  
  
Behind him 'Courf' loudly cleared his throat and gave Montparnasse a warning look, like he could actually threaten him . Montparnasse knew that kind of guys from back when I still went to school. God, was he glad he'd quit school.  
  
“ _Jean_ , I think we should be going now. The others are probably waiting.”  
  
“If you're in a hurry I don't want to hold you back”, Montparnasse smiled politely. “But if you're serious about wanting to make it up to me... Are you free tonight?”  
  
“Umn, I do think so.”  
  
“Meet me at the Pont Neuf then. Just come there and I'll find you. Let's say at eight? I know a great place we can go.”  
  
He really didn't expect Jean to agree, really. Even if he hadn't taken those fifty Euro out of his wallet before he gave it back to him, and he'd surely notice that sooner or later. Jean didn't look like bad boys where his type. Although Montparnasse did consider himself everyone's type, if only for a night. But somehow that wasn't what he wanted from Jean.  
  
“I will be there”, the other boy promised, not even noticing the incredulous look his friend was giving him, and waved farewell.  
  
Montparnasse really, really hoped he would.  
  
He spent five euro on a meal at McDonalds and then decided to invest the rest of his budget in a nice shirt and a jacket. Just because he technically lived on the street it didn't mean he had to look like a hobo, especially when he had a date.  
  
Montparnasse had found out that it was significantly more easy to steal money and buy clothes than to steal clothes from a store. Even at the cheapest clothing stores security measures were a real bother. Dressing well wasn't necessarily expensive, it was a matter of taste, to be honest. It was really a big advantage.  
  
Despite his limited budget Montparnasse spent a solid three hours trying on clothes and finally found a black blazer on sale and a warm grey shirt that complimented his eyes nicely. He found he looked absolutely dashing and started to picture Jean's surprised expression when he'd see him without his worn down leather jacket.  
  
Then he suddenly remembered that Jean would probably not even show up, and he felt a rush of disappointment. Sure, he would be able to find someone else to spend the night with if he really needed to, but he wasn't too keen on that. He didn't really understand it, guys like Jean weren't normally his type – too honest, too nice, he was from a whole other world. The people Montparnasse usually picked up were the complete opposite.  
  
Then again, although he barely dared to admit it to himself, this wasn't only about sex. They had never met before and only talked for about two minutes at the Gare du Nord, and still Montparnasse felt as if he _knew_ Jean. It surely was the stupid dream he had had this morning. But how was it possible to dream of someone you'd never seen before? It could have been accident, maybe the young man from his dream just happened to look like Jean. Or they had in fact met before,he just didn't consciously remember it. None of the possible explanations made an awful lot of sense.  
  
Luckily Montparnasse wasn't much of a philosopher or a thinker, he couldn't solve the mystery so he wouldn't waste anymore time on it. Instead he would focus on the things he could do, which, admittedly, wasn't too much at the moment, except for making a good impression. If it wasn't too late for that either.  
  
He then went to Babette's place to freshen up a little. Every time he visited the prostitute she told him he could make a lot of money in her line of business, which was supposed to be a compliment, but not really an option. Montparnasse didn't live to bad on stealing, and if he really needed to he always found a bed to spend the night in. Babette grinned a toothless grin. So that was why he was dolled up? Montparnasse just shrugged and smiled and, for the sake of his reputation, hoped she wouldn't call his bluff.  
  
He was way too early, but he could easily blame that on his lack of anything else to do. He wasn't going to risk getting arrested and standing Jean up.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
It was five minutes to eight when Jean arrived, wearing his skinny jeans and purple coat from earlier, and Montparnasse immediately knew he was busted. He never would have though such a sweet face could look so... sour. His steps were slow, looming, and although he was barely 1,70m tall the crowd of tourists instantly made way for him. Jean's annoying friend, Courf, was there, too, and Montparnasse wondered if it was so he could hold him while Jean punched him. That was a thing that had happened to him before and it was really unpleasant.  
  
Then again, he had experienced worse. He had done worse.  
  
Courf was obviously totally ready for it, too, but somehow Jean had managed to convince him to stay fifty meters behind him as he approached Montparnasse. Which was not all that reassuring, since Jean himself already looked frightened enough.  
  
“I'm sorry”, Montparnasse said and raised his hands in defeat, and already braced himself to be punched in the face. “Please, just listen to me before you rearrange my face.”  
  
“I'll try my best, but I won't make any promises”, Jean snapped, but didn't punch him in the face. “You have one minute.”  
  
Montparnasse took a deep breath. “How shall I put this? Telling the truth isn't really my thing, but … I was going to steal your money – sorry for that – but then I realised you were really cute. I mean I stole your money anyway, but not all of it. That has to count for something, right?!”  
  
Jean frowned at him, obviously still wary, but his cheeks were glowing red, and when he finally sighed and his expression softened Montparnasse knew he had did the right thing. “I wouldn't have turned up if I was only after you money, right?”, he added with a smirk and took a step towards Jean.  
  
“Am I getting my money back?” Montparnasse' smirk vanished and Jean groaned. “I see.”  
  
“I'm going to repay you somehow.”, Montparnasse promised. “I've got a lot of useful connections. Give me a chance, you won't regret it!” He wasn't completely sure about that, but it was certainly worth a try.  
  
Jean gave him a look that said that he wasn't completely sure either, but then he sighed again and gave his friend an OK sign. “He was going to rearrange your face, believe me, it was really hard to convince him I liked it this way”, he muttered and nudged Montparnasse with his shoulder.  
  
“Sorry” Montparnasse apologized again. “I'm the worst. But I promise, I can do better.”  
  
“Sure. You're not a drug dealer though, are you?”, Jean suddenly asked very seriously.  
  
“Umn, ...no”, Montparnasse admitted reluctantly. “But if you need something, I know a few drug dealers. Good ones. I can get you anything, really.”  
  
Jean snorted. “No, no, I'm fine ...for now”, he added with a smile. He allowed Montparnasse to guide him through the streets until they arrived in front of a small bar. _Corinthe_ , said a faded sign above of the door.  
  
“Don't worry, it's a not as shady as it looks. I think you'll like it. Thy sometimes do artsy stuff, life performances, poems and stuff like that.” Montparnasse explained.  
  
“Poetry slams?” Jean raised his brows. “Seriously?”  
  
“You don't like that?”  
  
“Do you?”  
  
Montparnasse shrugged. “I'm too stupid for poetry. But you seem smarter than me, you probably get these metaphors and... rhymes and stuff.” He held the door open and Jean smiled at him as if he was looking right trough his pseudo gentleman attitude. They crossed a crowded room and climbed up a steep wooden staircase up to a room that was furnished with low tables and comfortable looking armchairs. They sat down on a free table in a secluded corner of the room and while Jean peeled out of his coat and Montparnasse finally dared to look at him properly.  
  
He wore a ridiculous mustard yellow shirt – was that a woman's blouse? – with exotic birds and colourful flowers stitched onto it. It was the ugliest thing Montparnasse had even seen someone wear in real life, and he – sometimes – lived with Babette, who was paid for not sleeping with customers. It was an intriguing business model, really. He also noticed fresh flowers in Jean's hair, exotic looking ones, to match his shirt. They didn't go well with his nails, though, Montparnasse noticed with an amused smile.  
  
“It's nice”, Jean admitted after he had looked around the whole room  
  
Montparnasse grinned and waved at a waitress with dark brown curls and a short skirt. “Hey, Nina! That's Éponina, she's the best. Her old lady runs the place, so drinks are on me. On her, I mean.”  
“Montparnasse is a friend of a the house and so is every friend of his”, the girl called Éponina announced. “What can I get you?”  
  
“The usual for me.”  
  
“Can I get a Strawberry Daiquiri, please?”  
  
“And could you bring us some snacks, too?”, Montparnasse added.  
  
“Sure thing” Éponina winked at them and disappeared downstairs.  
  
“Our Parents always wanted us to get married, but she likes nice guys and I... well, me too.” Montparnasse winked. “But we've always been best friends.”  
  
“Nice guys, huh?”, Jean scoffed. “I thought you liked rich guys, preferably easy to fool.”  
  
“Oh come on, I told you I'm sorry about that! What do I have to do for you to forgive me?”  
  
“Just humor me for a while. You could start with telling me what's up with your name. How did you come to call yourself Montparnasse?” Jean propped up his arms on the table and rested his chin on his folded hands, curiously looking up at him with his stupid, ridiculously attractive eyes. The thing about Jean was, that he wasn't even that good looking, objectively. He wasn't manly enough to pass as handsome, but not girly enough to be pretty. He had a bit of a button nose with a few freckles on it, bright eyelashes and the colour of his eyes was a greyish blue. His lower lip was chapped and red, like he had a habit of biting it when he was in thought, and it looked damn kissable.  
  
Montparnasse had never seen anything as perfect as him.  
  
“Fine”, he smiled and leaned towards the other boy. “But promise me not to laugh!”  
  
Jean nodded.  
  
“It's my real name. Montparnasse. My mom figured if stars can name their children after American states or cities she could name her son Montparnasse.”  
“But Montparnasse isn't even a city?”  
  
“Yeah... She didn't really know that back then. We're not from around here.”  
  
Jean gave a soft laughter that made Montparnasse' insides turn to soda. “Jehan”, he then said hesitantly. “My real name is Jehan.”  
  
“That's not so bad though?”, Montparnasse said. “What's wrong with it?”  
  
“It's terribly old-fashioned! Who is called Jehan anymore nowadays?!”  
  
“Really cute people obviously!”, Montparnasse decided, and could have sworn Jean – Jehan blushed a little at that. “It's special, just like you. I would have guess someone who buys their pants in the women's section and braids flowers into their hair wouldn't mind being a little different. Jehan...”, he repeated tasting the name on his tongue. “That's nice! It's so...you.”  
  
Jehan _definitely_ blushed at that. “Well aren't you a charmer. Do you put up a show like this for every boy you pick up? Bring them here and sweet-talk them all night?” He obviously tried to make it sound mocking, but Montparnasse heard the doubtful undertone in his voice.  
  
“I never brought anyone here. You can ask Nina if you don't believe me”, he said gently. “So, is it alright if I call you Jehan?”  
  
“If you really like it that much...”  
  
“I really do.”  
  
“Oh no, did one of you propose already?” Speak of the devil. Éponina suddenly stood beside them, balancing two drinks and a plate with sandwiches. “I better be invited to the wedding!”  
  
“Your surprise is insulting. Of course he wouldn't want to let me get away.”, Montparnasse retorted seriously. “I'm a keeper!”  
  
“Yeah right...”  
  
Jehan smiled at that and Montparnasse instantly knew that he'd do anything for this smile, literally anything. Not that his inhibition level had been very high to begin with. But yeah, he'd probably kill for that smile.  
  
Éponina placed the drinks and the sandwiches on their table before wishing them a “pleasant evening” – she winked – and hurried back downstairs.  
  
Montparnasse rolled his eyes, and smiled at Jehan. “Well, anyway...”, he said. “Oh – right! There's something I've been wanting to ask you! Two things, actually. How long are you staying, and where are you stayying? You're not from here are you? You arrived at the train station and you didn't seem like you knew where to go.” He picked up one of the sandwiches and took a big bite.  
  
“I'm staying with Courfeyrac for two weeks now. I live... I moved to Canada with my parents after middle school but I got accepted at Sorbonne and now I'm looking for a place to stay. Courfeyrac is sharing his apartment with two friends and it's terribly small... but if he's moving in with his girlfriend I could have his old room. They're still not sure though. I hope they'll be by the end of next week.”  
  
Montparnasse was incredibly relieved to hear that, even _if_ Courfeyrac, assuming that was what 'Courf' was short for, happened to be interested in men _and_ women, he was not interested in Jehan specifically. He wasn't sure about Jehan though... The way he had greeted Courfeyrac at the station, standing on his tiptoes, his hands almost touching Courfeyrac's neck rather than shoulders, had seemed a little too friendly for his taste. Montparnasse took a long sip of his Long Island Iced Tea and cleared his throat.  
  
“That Courfeyrac guy... so he's not your...?”  
  
“Courf has been my best friend since grade school”, Jehan explained with a smile he obviously faked often enough to make it almost look real. “He's one year older than me and always beat up bullies who made fun of me because of my name and because... you know, other things.” He paused to organize his thoughts, biting his lower lip and Montparnasse knew he shouldn't find that hot when Jehan was obviously upset. Yet, here he was. “He's always been really supportive and dragged me to gay parties all the time so I could... _meet_ someone. But I didn't. We only met Grantaire, who's living with Courfeyrac at the moment.”  
  
“What about the other guy? You say he had two flatmates, right?”  
  
“Enjolras. He's the best friend of Courfeyrac's girlfriend Mélanie. Do you really care about my friends or do you think that's going to help you getting in my pants? Because I wouldn't blame you, I just don't want to bore you, I -”  
  
“Jehan”, he said, reaching across the table and taking Jehan's hand in his. The touch sent a wave of heat through his body and image appeared in his head. A young man with long blond hair, sitting in the corner of an empty bar, at table beside the window. He was bent over a piece of paper, tapping his fountain pen on the table top and biting his lip. When he blinked the image was gone, and he saw Jehan, who was looking at him slightly worried. “Jehan”, he repeated. “I am not trying to get into your pants unless you want me to.”  
  
“Oh God are you serious”, Jehan groaned, but he was smiling and he didn't pull away his hand, which was probably a good sign. “Tell me something about your life!”, he then demanded. “Do you still go to school? Do you live alone? How old are you anyway? Do you really know any drug dealers?”  
  
“I only know _one_ drug dealer, to be honest. Don't ask me to introduce him to you, he's a real creep.”  
  
“Worse than you?”  
  
“Very funny.” Montparnasse pulled back his hand to take another sip from his drink. “I don't really live anywhere... but when I really need a place to stay I can stay with a friend. My parents threw me out because I stopped going to school last year, but if I hadn't I would be done with school now. I just turned nineteen. I think that answers all of your questions.” He realised his answer was a bit brusque, but he suddenly felt embarrassed admitting that he had literally archived nothing in his whole life, and never would, to Jehan, who was going to university soon.  
  
“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-”, Jehan, who must have sensed his discomfort, began, but Montparnasse interrupted: “It's okay. You've got every right to be curious. It's a little bit of a sore subject, that's all.”  
“How about this then, tell what did you mean when you said you dreamt of me.”  
  
Feeling his cheeks growing warm Montparnasse gripped his drink with both hands. Why the fuck had he even said that? He could easily book that as one of the to three most embarrassing moments in his life. But looking back it was probably the one thing that had made Jehan want to see him again, if only out of curiosity.  
  
His lips twisted into a soft smile. “I meant it just like that: I dream of you. I had a dream this morning when I slept on the metro. And you were in it. Although I can't remember what happened or what you did. I only remember your face. I know this sounds super creepy, and I really can't explain it, but I feel like I have been searching for you for lifetimes... Do you think I made that up?”, he then asked.  
  
Jehan shook his head.  
  
“Because if you did, that'd be fine. I surely would.”  
  
“I believe you”, Jehan said with a heartening smile and burning cheeks. “Because even if you're making this up to impress me it's still totally working. It sounds romantic. I like that.”  
  
“Come on, you'd totally like poetry”, Montparnasse muttered, because attack was the best defense and teasing Jehan was easier than admitting that that Jehan made him feel things he imagined people wrote poems about.  
  
Jehan pursed his lip and stared at him, scrutinizing.  
  
“I didn't mean to mock you”, Montparnasse assured him, remembering what Jehan had told him about his middle school time. “I think it's pretty cool.”  
  
“Fine, fine!” Jehan surrendered. “I do like poetry. I do write poetry. Not even cool, postmodern stuff, but exactly what you probably imagine. Cheesy love poems, with rhymes and metre and metaphors.” He looked at Montparnasse almost provocative.  
  
“It's cool”, Montparnasse repeated. “I mean, I wouldn't know about the post modern stuff, I don't know what that even means, but I'm sure cheesy love poems are just as good. If you want me to I can read one and tell you – absolutely truthfully – that it's the best one I've ever read!”  
  
“Because it'll be the first one”, Jehan deduced brilliantly.  
  
Montparnasse grinned and shrugged, and Jehan rolled his eyes but laughed that soft laugh of his which gave Montparnasse goosebumps.  
Oh boy, he was so far gone.  
  
The evening was just the kind of thing Montparnasse had though he would never do. It was quiet and comfortable and they both knew it wouldn't lead to a sexual encounter but that was okay. He simply enjoyed Jehan's company and hoped he felt the same.  
  
Jehan made and obvious effort to no to mention his living situation or academic career again, but he showed some interest in why the hell Montparnasse got all of his clothes from h &m when he could literally steal them anywhere. He didn't seem to be shocked when Montparnasse told him about the people he knew and the things he did. In return Jehan told him about his time in Canada, and how he had always wanted to return to France, to his friends. He told him about Sorbonne and how he hadn't actually expected to get in, but then did, and it was really cute how excited he got about it. He wondered what had made a boy like that decide to go out with him, but Jehan assured him that all of his friends had mild personality disorders, so dating a small time criminal with an obsession for cheap yet stylish clothing couldn't make it much worse.  
  
It was barely midnight when Montparnasse suggested he should take Jehan home.  
  
“Your friends are probably worried, and I don't want Courfeyrac to call the police. It'd be stupid to get arrested now after I've been avoiding it for so long, just because your friend thinks I kidnapped you, when I actually didn't do anything illegal this time”, he argued, and looked a Jehan, half expecting him to mention the fifty euros.  
  
But he didn't. “You're probably right. I'm sorry he's being difficult”, was all he muttered, obviously displeased with having to leave already.  
  
“It's fine, better safe than sorry, right? I could have been a sociopath.”  
  
“I'm not entirely convinced you're not a sociopath.”  
  
“Does that mean you're into sociopaths?”  
  
“Don't be ridiculous! Were you serious about bringing me home?”  
  
“Totally. I'm a gentlemen!”, claimed Montparnasse and help Jehan into his coat. They waved goodbye to Éponina and left the _Corinthe_. Jehan shivered in the cold air and leaned into Montparnasse who wrapped one arm around Jehan's small shoulders.  
  
“Aren't you cold?”  
  
“Nah.” Montparnasse shrugged. “I wouldn’t have lasted for long if I couldn’t take a little chill.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw Jehan's gaze flicker from his his lips to his eyes, and back to his lips, and Montparnasse tried really hard not to smile. “Like what you're seeing?”, he asked quietly. “You're starring.”  
  
“I was not. I was in thought.”  
  
“You suck at lying. That's so funny though, I'm really damn good at lying, we kind of complement each other so well.”  
  
Jehan gave a soft chuckle, half annoyed and half amused. “Oh, I'll have to take the metro though.”, he then remembered. “I suppose you don't have a ticket?”  
  
Montparnasse shrugged. “I'm not going to buy one either. I know how to get through the barrier without one. But you're welcome to pretend you don't know me in case I'll be caught.”  
  
“Thanks, that's sweet.”  
  
Despite their joking, Montparnasse couldn't help but notice the looks and nods he was getting from the dark corners of the city. Some of the dark figures, faces buried in coat collars and hidden under big hats, seemed comfortingly familiar, some were stranger and threatening. He didn't fear for his own safety, he knew how to defend himself if things got ugly, but he didn't want to drag Jehan into his business. Unconsciously he squeezed Jehan's shoulders and pulled him a little closer. Their legs started to tangle until they had a hard time walking without stumbling across each other's feet. They ended up tripping and laughing so hard, they had to stop to catch their breath before they were able to enter the the metro station without drawing too much attention to themselves.  
  
A surprisingly comfortable silence spread between them as they got on the train, which was not empty, but at least quiet at this time of the night, apart from the soothing rattle of the train, which shielded their conspiratorial whispering from curious ears.  
  
“Jehan”, Montparnasse said after while. “You know I'm doing this... thing, right?”  
  
“Stealing?”  
  
Montparnasse wiggled his eyebrows. “Stealing hearts, you mean”, he corrected. “No, but seriously. I'm talking about this whole crime business. If there's anything you want to know, go ahead and ask, I won't keep you in the dark about anything. This life I'm leading – I chose it. It's part of who I am, and I don't think I could quit, just like that. But I'm not going to drag you into that.”  
  
“Well then, did you ever kill someone?”, Jehan asked very seriously.  
  
“Nah” Montparnasse shook his head. “It's 2014, you don't just kill someone and get away with it. It's a stupid thing to attempt. But I gave some people a good beating.” He looked at Jehan from the corner of his eye, but the other boy didn't really seem shocked, let alone surprised. “Are you going to ask me to stop that?”  
  
Jehan shook his head. “No. If you want me to stay out of it, so that's what I'll do.”  
  
“That's not what I meant.”  
  
“I know, but it really is your business. Who am I to tell you how to live your life, we've just met! All I'm going to ask you is to be careful.”  
“Yeah, I think I can do that.” Montparnasse smiled.  
  
They didn't hurry on the way from the station to the apartment. They detoured trough backstreets and shared cigarettes and it was past one in the morning when they arrived at the flat. Montparnasse could tell from the pout on Jehan's face that he didn't want to leave just yet, but it couldn't be helped. Courfeyrac didn't trust him, and Montparnasse couldn't even blame him.  
  
“So... here we are”, Jehan finally mumbled.  
  
“Here we are”, Montparnasse agreed with a sigh. “Here, let me give you my number. Call me, okay?”  
  
He nodded and typed Montparnasse' Number into his phone.  
  
“I better go then.”  
  
“Yeah, me too. I don't want to worry my friends.”  
  
“Goodnight, Jehan.”  
  
Montparnasse raised his hand, suggesting a wave, and watched Jehan slip trough the front door into the house. He then slowly turned around, but his feet wouldn't move one step further. He didn't want to leave, he didn't want to let Jehan go. But what could he do? Invite Jehan to spend the night with him under a bridge? Neither did he want to force himself on Jehan, just to have a warm bed to sleep in. For the first time in his life he began to doubt his way of living, but it wasn't like he could change anything about it just now. Still, he couldn't bring himself to walk away. If he could only get one more look, maybe a touch...  
  
He barely registered what he was doing as he turned back and reached for the door handle. But at this very moment the door was pushed open from inside and Jehan almost stumbled into him. For a second they looked at each other in the light of the streetlamp outside and Montparnasse wondered if he was dreaming again.  
  
A cold hand on his face finally pulled him back to reality. He grabbed Jehan wrist and pushed him back into the dark hall of the apartment building, whirling them around so Jehan stood with his back against the wall, cornered by an arm on either side of his body. For a second Jehan seemed frozen on shock, but then his hands found Montparnasse' shoulders in the dark. They slid up his neck to hold his face, and a chill went down Montparnasse' spine.  
  
They met halfway, Jehan standing on his tiptoes and Montparnasse bending down slightly, and the first awkward clack of teeth was atoned by Montparnasse tracing Jehan's lower lip with his tongue. He had removed on hands from the wall and put it on Jehan's hip, steadying rather than holding in close. But Jehan didn't seem to mind close. His hands had traveled to the back of Montparnasse' head, fingers tangled in his dark curls, tugging gently.  
  
The kiss was eager at first, lips and fingers restless and hearts pounding, then slowly faded away, leaving both of them breathless. Jehan had fallen back against the door, with Montparnasse' hand still on his hips, his own hands on Montparnasse' face.  
  
“Please stay”, he finally whispered.  
Under his thumb Montparnasse' lips twisted into as smile. “Seriously?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“What will your friends say?”  
  
“They won't find out. Not until morning, at least.”  
  
Montparnasse laughed quietly and took Jehan's hand. “Lead the way then.”  
  
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The following morning Montparnasse had some serious trouble figuring out where hell he was. He had memories of the night before, but they seemed too good to be true and the comfortable bed he was lying in, the soft pillow and warm blanket were a little too much for him to comprehend at first. Sure, when he was living with Babette he had a roof over his head and stayed dry, but Babette's place was a small cellar room divided by various ugly pieces of furniture, and surely didn't qualify as an actual apartment.  
  
The biggest miracle of the morning, however, was the beautiful boy lying in bed with him. Montparnasse had woken up beside many people, boys, men, sometimes even women. Non of them had looked quite as good as they had the night before, and he had never stayed long enough for any of them to wake up and reevaluate his looks. It was different with Jehan, who seemed to look even more beautiful in the morning light. His hair spilled over the pillow like rivulets of liquid gold and every freckle on his nose was a fleck of bronze. Jehan was more than sex; he was, as cheesy as it sounded, the most beautiful thing Montparnasse had ever seen.  
  
The emotions became a little too much too handle and Montparnasse sat up abruptly. He really needed a coffee. Jehan made a displeased sound when Montparnasse carefully pushed his arms off his stomach, but he didn't wake up. Their clothes were piled up at the end of the bed and Montparnasse quickly dressed himself while he imagined himself surprising Jehan with a mug of coffee. Surely that would win him Jehan's favour, maybe even earn him a reward. Montparnasse grinned to himself.  
  
The kitchen turned out to be easier to find than he had thought. All he had to do was follow the smell of coffee and the sound of hushed voices coming from a room at the end of the narrow hallway. The door stood ajar and Montparnasse was tempted to peek – a terrible habit, but it was part of his business and he was naturally curious. But if Jehan's friends caught him creeping around the house and spying on them it probably wouldn't convince them he was suitable company for Jehan. He would just have to pull himself together. How scary could Jehan's friends possibly be?  
  
“Good Morning!”  
  
Inside the kitchen, around a small, high table, some sort of counter, sat Courfeyrac and a guy with blond hair who looked like a model, or one of those tiny fat angels on old pictures, only less fat, although he was wearing sweatpants and a huge sweater. Montparnasse remembered that Jehan had told him the names of Courfeyrac's flatmates, but he couldn't remember either of them. Thankfully the guy had some manners.  
  
“Good Morning”, he said smiling. “I'm Enjolras, and you must be the homeless drug dealer.”  
  
Courfeyrac snickered.  
  
“Yeah very funny. I'm not actually a drug dealer.”  
  
“That's a big relief. You know, we like to make sure Jehan doesn't get in with bad company”, Enjolras explained with cold seriousness. “And if you'll hurt him nobody will ever find the body, believe me.”  
  
“Nobody's going to look for it either”, Montparnasse replied and turned to the coffee machine. “Can I help myself to a mug?”  
  
“Sure. Shelf above the sink”, Courfeyrac offered helpfully. “Milk's in the fridge.”  
  
“We ran out of sugar”, Enjolras added, with a look as if he hoped Montparnasse usually drank his coffee with a lot of sugar. Which he did, but whatever. If they wanted to play the protective friends so be it. He took a gulp of gross black coffee, trying his best not to look disgusted. At least while he was drinking he would not have to justify himself for a few seconds. When he finally lowered the mug from his lips Jehan's friends were still starring at him.  
  
Montparnsse cleared his throat. “I know what you think of me, and you're _totally_ right! Except for the part where you think I'm going to hurt Jehan. That's the lats thing on my mind.”  
“Just because you don't mean to hurt him doesn't mean you won't”, countered Enjolras.  
  
“At least he showed up last night”, said Courfeyrac and shrugged.  
  
Montparnasse looked at him surprised. “I though you hated me more than him.”  
  
Courfeyrac grinned. “Trying to hate anything or anyone more than Enjolras is pointless, he's got some strong opinions. So I'm the good cop. Besides, I want Jehan to be happy. If you're not going to make him miserable then I've got no reason to hate you.”  
  
Montparnasse felt like a whole ton of bricks was lifted his heart. His chances with Jehan would have been approximately zero if _all_ of his friends hated him. “I don't hate you, too!”, he informed Courfeyrac with what he hoped as a friendly smile. Maybe with a slightly nervous touch.  
  
Enjolras rolled his eyes. “You're on probation”, he decided and straightened his back. “Don't sell him drugs, don't introduce him to people who will. Don't get him involved in anything illegal. Don't get him involved in anything dangerous. Don't make him presents if you steal them. Don't-”  
  
“I get it, I get it!”, interrupted Montparnasse, raising his hands in mock-defeat. “I'm not going to be any kind of bad influence. I'll be the _best_ boyfriend ever, you'll see. I could use a bit of support though. How does Jehan like his coffee?”  
  
Enjolras and Courfeyrac exchange a quick glance and Montparnasse had a sense of foreboding of the commitment he was making.  
  
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A few minutes later he was balancing a mug of coffee in each hand through the hall to Jehan's room. Instead of knocking, he carefully pushed down the handle with elbow, but it turned out that it was unnecessary to be quiet. Jehan was already awake, sitting cross-legged on the bed and writing in a small black notebook. When he noticed Montparnasse entering he raised his head and smiled a little sheepishly.  
  
“I was inspired to write.”  
  
“That's cool.” Montparnasse grinned. No one had every really complained after spending a night with him, but no one had felt inspired to write poetry either. “I met Courfeyrac and Enjolras and got you some coffee.”  
  
“With whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles? God, I love you”, sighed Jehan happily. He didn't fully realize what he was saying until he had finished the sentence and his eyes widened. “Oh God”, he groaned and buried his face in the blanket, but Montparnasse could still see his ears burning bright red. It would have been funny, if Montparnasse hadn't been so dumbfounded himself.  
  
“You didn't mean that, did you?”, he asked with a nervous laugh. “Just an uncommitted 'you brought me coffee and I really appreciate that' kind of love confession?”  
  
“Yeah”, mumbled Jehan into the blanket. “Or maybe I did mean it. But I surely didn't mean say it!” He raised his head for a few centimeters so he could look up at Montparnasse from under his bangs. “I think I would like that coffee now. Can we please forget this happened? At least for now?”  
  
“For now”, Montparnasse agreed, only half joking. His heart was still pounding as he he handed Jehan his coffee-abomination and crawled back under the cover. “What are you writing?”  
  
“Something you made me think of, actually.” Jehan showed him his notebook. “What you said yesterday, about how you dreamed of me... I thought... it's a beautiful idea, isn't it?”  
  
Montparnasse nodded absentmindedly, trying to deceiver Jehan's twirly writing.  
  
“Since I have set my lips to your full cup, my sweet... since I my pallid face between your hands have laid... since I have known your soul, and all the bloom of it...”, he read out loud, trying to pronounce each line with the correct rhythm. “And all the perfume rare, now buried in the shade... I'm not sure if I knew what it means, but it sounds _beautiful_. Does it just end like that?” He pointed at two single lines at the end.  
  
Jehan, whose face had just taken on a healthy colour again, blushed again. “Thanks. It's really just what you said. Basically.”  
  
“I didn't say it like that though! What I said sounded stupid and creepy, this sounds... whoa.”  
  
“Stop buttering me up!”, Jehan laughed. “And no, it's not supposed to end like that, I'm just stuck somehow. There's more I want to say, I just can't find the right words... I know what I want it to _feel_ like, it's just... it's difficult.”  
  
Montparnasse loved the little wrinkle between Jehan's when he tried to focus really hard. Wanting to help, he tried to remember the dream he had dreamed on the metro. There had been a slip of paper, and something about flowers... “All your fading flowers... and something about a rose....”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Fleet to the dark abyss, or something, with all your fading flowers... one rose that no one can pluck, within my heart I hold”, he recited. “I'm not sure if that's exactly how it goes, but-”  
  
“Where did you hear that?”, Jehan interrupted. “That's – well – _almost_ perfect.”  
  
“You wrote that!”, Montparnasse said excitedly and placed his coffee on the nightstand to grab Jehan's shoulders. He finally remembered where the paper in his dream had come from. “The other you, the one who was in my dream!”  
  
“There was another me in your dream?”  
  
“Yes! He was a poet! I stole his purse once!”  
  
“That sounds like the normal me and you.”  
  
“No!”, Montparnasse disagreed, starting to feel slightly frustrated. “Look, I don't know how to explain this... in my dream, there was another you, and I think I was another me, too. I think we lived like hundreds of years ago, in the middle ages or something. It's like, it was us in another life. Like we are reborn.”  
  
Jehan looked at him doubtingly. Montparnasse couldn't blame him.  
  
“This other version of you came up with those lines. And the other version of me found the piece of paper he noted them down on, that's how I know them. I read them in my dream”, he tried to explain, but every word he said only made the whole story sound even stranger.  
  
Jehan still didn't look too convinced, but then he bit his lip and started scribbling into his notebook again. “I now am bold to say to the swift changing hours, pass, pass upon your way, for I grow never old... fleet to the dark _abysm_ with all your fading flowers... one rose that none may pluck, within my heart I hold”, he tried out the lines. “That's perfect. You sure you didn't got it from some other poem?”  
“Google it if you don't believe me!”  
  
“No, no, I believe you”, Jehan assured him. “Your explanation is kind of unbelievable, but I believe you.” Then he frowned. “Will you be bored if I keep on writing?”  
“Nah, that's fine.”  
  
“Just don't look over my shoulder while I'm writing, that makes me really uncomfortable.”  
  
“Got it!”  
  
They were silent for a while, Jehan sitting and writing, Montparnasse lying beside him and watching him bite his lip, gnaw at his pencil, wrinkling his nose. He found himself smiling like an idiot. How could anyone be that cute?  
  
“I think I might really be in love with you. This you, not the dream you.”, he murmured. “I would have fallen in love with you even if I hadn't had that dream. And if I died today, and met you in another life, I'm sure I would fall in love again.”  
  
Jehan shuddered at his words and put his notebook down. He leaned over Mntparnasse, who felt himself drawn to Jehan's mouth by some kind magnetic force. Before their lips met, Jehan smiled, and whispered: “My heart has far more fire than you can frost to chill, my soul more love than you can make my soul forget.“

**Author's Note:**

> * I wrote this story a year ago, I had a lot of good ideas for this universe and I don't exactly remember all of them but I hope I could stil make this work.
> 
> * Not every idea I have for the AU ended up in this story, actually I deleted fairly long passages for narrative reasons and some ideas are simply meant for other stories (which I hope to write eventually?).
> 
> * I wanted to avoid certain tradional representations within the fandom, not because I dislike them but because I wanted to write something for myself that I haven't already read before.
> 
> * For some names I tried to find an explanation or a first name (Mélanie), for others I just accpeted the fact that sometimes characters are only referred to by their nicknames or last names and we'll never found out their first names.
> 
> * I made this "chapter one" as an encouragement for myself to work on the next part; I'll try.
> 
> * I promised H&M, it will play a role eventually!
> 
> * Lastly, the poem in the story is not written by me, it's written by Victor Hugo and beautifully translated by Andrew Lang:http://www.gutenberg.org/files/8775/8775-h/8775-h.htm#link2H_4_0075


End file.
